Invalid
by Flaignhan
Summary: She wondered whether her Hippocratic oath applied in the Time Vortex. [Ten Martha friendship]


**A/N:** It's silly, it's plotless, it's not very shippy, but it was inspired by my father, the original invalid, and it is dedicated to those who have ever had to put socks on for people with a bad back. It got a fairly good reception at Life on Martha, because that lot are very lovely, so I thought I'd stick it up here as well.

* * *

**Invalid.**

**by Flaignhan.**

* * *

He was lying under the console, his converse clad feet sticking out and swinging from side to side in time with a song which was playing on a loop in his head. She could hear the high pitched buzz of the Sonic Screwdriver as she wandered into the control room, a mug of tea in each of her hands.

When she neared him, she let her right foot wander to his side, giving him a gentle dig with her big toe. The Sonic Screwdriver stopped buzzing, and the blue glow which had been filtering through the floor disappeared abruptly. "Have you got tea?" he asked, and she could hear him sniffing the air like some sort of dog.

"Yes," she replied, a smile on her face. "A huge mug, with four sugars and just a splash of milk that was left to brew for precisely three minutes and forty-two seconds."

"Oh you _star_." In her mind's eye she could see him grinning wildly, and she tried to not feel too pleased with herself at his reaction to a cup of tea which he hadn't even tasted yet.

He wriggled out from under the console and sprang to his feet, but before he could take the tea from her, he fell back against the control panel, mouth open wide in horror, eyes staring and panicky. She thought for a moment one of his hearts had stopped. "What's wrong?" she asked automatically, setting the tea down so she could give him her full attention.

"Nooo no no no no, this isn't right!" he turned to look at her, still leaning against the console at an odd angle, his hands gripping the edge of it so tightly that his knuckles had gone white.

"What?" Martha persisted. "What's happened?" He let out a breath as though steeling himself for the effort that was speech before he answered.

"My back's gone."

She now realised that the breath had been him letting go of his pride and admitting defeat.

* * *

"This is so undignified."

"Nonsense," Martha replied, setting a new cup of tea down on his bedside table. "You lay in this bed every night when you go to sleep – what's so different now?"

"I'm still in my suit, it's the middle of the day...relatively speaking, I'm not tired, and I can barely move!" Martha kept her smile at bay. She was a doctor, strictly professional at all times, whether her patient was human or not, cooperative or uncooperative, cheerful or whiny. He scowled at the ceiling, as though it had just insulted him most rudely.

"Your tea's getting cold," she told him, and held out her hands so he could pull himself into a sitting position. He grumbled and groaned the whole time, and once he was finally sitting up, he reached round to get his tea, his fingertips missing it by a few centimetres. He twisted so he could get closer and cried back in pain, sinking quickly back into his pillows. "You could just ask me to pass it to you, you know." He took the tea, his eyebrows drawn together in a frown. Evidently he did not cope well when he was out of action.

"What do you want to do?" Martha asked finally, perching on the edge of his bed, waiting for an answer.

"I _want_ to go and finish fixing the Tardis," he replied sulkily.

"No can do. It's got to be something you can do in bed." He raised an eyebrow and she couldn't believe it. Mr What-the hell-is-sexual-innuendo was raising an eyebrow at _her_! "That would only make your back worse," she told him, before adding: "if you actually put any effort into it." He drew in a breath, obviously about to say something, but then thought better of it. She smirked, almost entirely sure that he was going to say something to assure her he put more effort in than she could imagine, but he decided to leave it, not wanting the conversation to go any further.

"I meant like a book or a DVD or a game or _something_ to pass the time."

"A _game_?" he said disdainfully. His expression change so rapidly from one of disgust to one of delight that she would have missed it if she blinked. "Have we still got Connect Four?"

* * *

"You're reading my mind, aren't you?" she asked, seventeen games later.

"No, I have to do this to be able to read your mind," he reached his arms forward, placing his index and middle fingers on her temples. Martha gasped when she felt him intrude upon her thoughts and he pulled away rather quickly. "That is the oldest trick in the book, Martha Jones! You think I'd ever fall for that? Blimey, I'd have to have the IQ of a human to lose _that_ spectacularly."

"Oi!" Martha protested, feeling that his insult was just a tad harsh. "How do you know that's not just me thinking something different so you would get thrown off the scent?"

"You're trying to use some poor form of Occlumency against me?" he asked sceptically.

"No..." Martha replied. "I'm bored of this, anyway, let's watch a film. What good ones have you got?"

"_All_ of my films are good films," the Doctor told her boastfully. "But speaking of Occlumency, go and get the seventh film, I'm in the mood for some rubbish CGI."

"Oi! That's cutting edge where I'm from!"

"When I'm up and running I'll take you to the multiplex on Jaego Nine, _then_ you'll see what cutting edge is." Martha rolled her eyes and got off the bed, tip-toeing through the mess that was the Doctor's room, not wanting to break her ankle and end up just as incapacitated as he was.

* * *

They were both in tears, and had they not been so immersed in the film, they would have laughed at themselves. As it was, however, they would both maintain until the end of time (which they could _actually_ do) that it was the most distressing thing they had ever seen on a television, and the surround sound that the Tardis provided had only made it more so.

She hadn't believed him when he said he cried at the book, but now she couldn't imagine him doing anything else. Even he, the cleverest man in the universe (or so he had told her) had sunk to the lows of shouting at the television, trying to give Harry instructions.

"Oh you _stupid_ ape! Stupid stupid _stupid_!" Martha shushed him and he fell silent, both of them watching intently as the action unfolded before them. Martha had her hands clasped over her mouth, torn between watching and closing her eyes to save herself the heartache.

Finally the credits began to roll and the Doctor picked up the remote control and turned the TV off. He sighed and turned to Martha. "Pity he ended up in Eastenders, isn't it?"

"Who?"

"Daniel Radcliffe! Ended up in Eastenders, didn't he! What a waste..." Martha smiled and lent her head against his shoulder. He put an arm around her, pulling her closer and dipped his head so he could whisper into her ear.

"Martha Jones," she made a vague sound of acknowledgement. "My tea's run out." She took his arm off her shoulders and moved away from him, all sympathy and care disappearing in an instant.

"Well that's a crying shame, isn't it?"

* * *

It had taken him a long time to convince her that he _did_ deserve another cup of tea, and that he couldn't_ possibly_ get it himself in the state he was in. Finally Martha had relented and gone and made him some more tea. The truth was she was annoyed because she had thought (rather foolishly) that he would say something a little nicer, something she could treasure when he had whispered to her, his lips brushing against her ear. As it was, he just wanted more tea.

"Ahhh," the Doctor said appreciatively, licking his lips after his first sip of the newly brewed drink, "perfect." Martha let her face fall into a smile at the delight that a simple cup of tea could bring him. But perhaps once you had seen the most magnificent things in the universe, it was the simple pleasures of life that excited you time after time after time.

"Wouldn't say no to some biscuits, Martha."

Her smile disappeared and she glared daggers at him.

"Are you enjoying this?" she demanded, her patience finally running out. He looked at her blankly and he suddenly reminded her of the Doctor she had met in the hospital bed, absolutely certain that he had not been running about in the street.

"No, I'm not," he told her honestly. She huffed and left the room, turning in the direction of the kitchen.

He grinned slyly.

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**The End.**


End file.
